Page 173 of Rogue of My Heart

But as Albina entered, he was forced to lower it back to the table, as his hand started shaking.

Was she trying to send him to an early grave?

He nearly groaned aloud as she strode into the room in a dress that could only have been designed with Cyprian in mind., The gown had a high waist that pushed her full breasts up with an enticing view of the valley between them. Short puffed sleeves hugged her shoulders, and without the hindrance of gloves, he had a generous view of the bare flesh of her arms. But it was the color — a bold, daring red — that had him gaping at her like a fish out of water.

Have I paid for such a scandalous gown? But more importantly…

Did she wear that around London?

Neither was a very settling thought as his grip tightened on the stem of his wineglass. When a nearby footman strode forward to seat his wife, a little too eagerly in Michael’s opinion, he glared at him outright, causing the servant to scurry back to his position.

His wife turned to face him then; her eyes alight with what could only be considered concealed mischief. A slight curve played about the corners of her mouth, as if they shared a mutual secret. A ruby necklace and earbobs graced her smooth, creamy skin, and he recognized them as the set he’d gifted to her on their betrothal. They were part of the Beauley family jewels. When she turned her head, the gems sparkled in the candlelight, and caught the red highlights in her hair. She was fascinating, and absolutely breathtaking and — all his.

“…don’t you agree, my lord?”

* * *

Michael blinked, only then realizing that she’d been speaking. He cleared his throat. So much for being in control, he thought dryly. She walked in the room dressed as a courtesan and he lost all common sense, including his ability to hear.

“Pardon?”

Her lips twitched. “I said that the lobster bisque is rather good tonight.

Don’t you agree?”

“Indeed,” Michael said. He glanced down at the table where the steaming, creamy soup was waiting for him. He hadn’t even realized they had been served until that point, his focus had been entirely set upon his wife. “It smells delicious.”

He forced himself to pick up his spoon, but when he would have brought the first bite to his lips, she moaned in a manner that could only be pure pleasure. But it wasn’t until her enticing pink tongue slid out to lick her lips that Michael’s throat went dry and a trail of fire shot straight to his groin.

He sat his spoon down on his plate with a clatter and reached for his port, taking a long, bracing drink that drained the liquid inside. Instantly, a footman was there to refill it. As he took another healthy swallow, he saw Albina frown at him in concern.

“Is everything alright?” she asked.

No, everything is far from bloody alright. “Of course. Why do you ask?” he gritted out.

She gave a dainty shrug. “You just seem… distracted. As if something is troubling you.”

The only thing that’s troubling me is the question of whether I should order everyone out of this room and bend you over this table or drag you upstairs and… Michael released a swift breath and clenched his fists on the table. “I suppose I’m just tired.”

Again, there was that adorable crease between her brows. “Well, that is regrettable. I was hoping that after dinner we might retire to the parlor and play a game of chess. It’s been awhile since I’ve been faced with such a challenging opponent.”

“Fine.” She glanced over at his harsh tone, so he softened it slightly.

“I’m sure I can manage to stay awake for one game, if that’s what you wish.”

“Splendid.” She nearly beamed, making her look like the youthful girl he’d first courted. This time, an ache of a different sort hit him — straight in the chest, but it was enough of a firm reminder to get him through the rest of the meal.

* * *

A single game of chess does not a marriage make.

Albina was pleased, for it seemed as if her plan was working. He had truly appeared rather discombobulated upon her arrival. Unfortunately, she’d somehow lost his interest along the way, but she intended to bring that fire back to his gaze soon enough.

“Do you have a color preference?” she asked him when they were seated across from each other, the silver and gold chessboard between them.

“No.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “I confess I haven’t had much time to play either.”

She smiled. “Good. Then I might actually have a chance. As hard as I might try, I could never best you at chess.” She selected the silver army, and then glanced at him expectantly.